


Colliding

by universalgleam



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Choking, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, badly written smut with badly written Emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 20:10:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6254191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/universalgleam/pseuds/universalgleam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Obi-Wan holds him closer and revels in the fact that even amidst war, a galaxy in pain, they have the good fortune to be together – the fact that they are here, now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Colliding

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know what the Fuck this is. i guess it wrote itself, or whatever. i'm working on like 3 chaptered stories right now, which is my "excuse" for the absolute mayhem that is this fic
> 
> (also, anakin is an eternal bottom. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯)

“What if someone’s watching, Master?”

With a jolt, Obi-Wan Kenobi pulls back his head, looking about the room frantically. It’s ridiculous, and he realizes as much soon after he’s done it – they’re crammed in a storage closet at present, not even the size of his ‘fresher back home on Coruscant.

And now Anakin can’t stop laughing.

The young man’s hair is tousled, his lips are swollen and red, yet even in these highly charged moments he seems dead-set on causing his former master the most grief he possibly can.

“…was only joking, you know. I just meant – well, what if someone _was_ watching?” He waggles his eyebrows conspiratorially, giggles continuing through it all. Obi-Wan sighs.

“You must be aware of the consequences that would bring about.”

Anakin rolls his eyes, then presses his lips to Obi-Wan’s neck as he speaks. “I know, Master.”

Running his hand through the younger man’s hair, he sighs again. “You really mustn’t call me that anymore. We are equals now.”

“Mm, maybe… but I–” he repositions himself, leaning in for a kiss “–I like it. Makes me feel…” (another kiss) “…like I’m _yours_.”

_Oh._

All the stress, the fatigue of battle and anxiety over being caught vanishes from Obi-Wan’s gut with a distinct flare of arousal.

“I’m yours, aren’t I, Master?”

_Don’t give in. You must be stronger than this. You must–_

“You’re mine.” Lust wins again.

Anakin grins at him, swollen lips making it look so _dirty_ , before leaning in for another kiss, a _real_ one this time.

_He is mine_.

“Master, what I said earlier… about being watched.” He waits for Obi-Wan’s approval before continuing. “I… overheard some clones… talking about us.”

Panic sets in. Obi-Wan’s eyes go wide, Anakin rushing to calm him.

“No, no– don’t worry, Master, they know nothing. They were… making _jokes_ , I suppose.” _As if passion this deep – this forbidden – could ever be a joke._ “They had some… _colorful_ things to say about it. And, well, they think _I’m,_ uh… on _top._ ”

Obi-Wan’s own laughter breaks the panic. “Is that so?”

“Yes. And, well,” he smiles shyly, “I’ve just been… thinking. About if they _could_ see us now. What they’d–”

Fed up with the talking, the older man takes the opportunity to push Anakin down onto the filthy floor, his arms beside his head, accommodating himself between his former Padawan’s long legs. “And what if they _could_ see you now, General? Would they be surprised? How you actually _listen_ to me when it brings you pleasure?”

“Mmh… Master, _please_ ,” he whines, head tossed to the side, the sweat on his neck visible in the slivers of light shining through the cracks in the doorframe. _So beautiful. And mine._ He begins to turn himself over – as they often make love – but Obi-Wan stops him, shaking his head.

“I think I’ll take you on your back today.”

Anakin moans at this, as Obi-Wan shoves his knees up, hands braced on the backs of his thighs, where under those _ridiculous_ pants (was _leather_ really necessary?) there will soon be ten elliptical bruises, perfect orbits where his Master holds him firm.

They can’t get undressed quickly enough, both so furiously aroused, the Force painfully present in the tiny room. Anakin moans as Obi-Wan’s fingers enter him, spread so wide open he should be ashamed. But he’s not. It’s always amazed Obi-Wan, always will – how _shameless_ this gorgeous boy is, in everything he does, even this.

“P-please, Master,” he’s practically _sobbing_ out now, “in me. Want you in me.”

In daily life, he finds himself saying _no_ to Anakin more times than he can count. But here he can’t refuse him anything.

Burying himself in Anakin is exquisite. Burying himself in Anakin is returning home after a long mission; familiarity, all the things he holds dear. The Force glows around the younger man and Obi-Wan feels he could cry. He knows he _should_ feel the whispers of the Dark Side, but he doesn’t. He never has. Not even when _passion_ consumes this act entirely.

Maybe the Order has been wrong all along. Could love, its attachment, make one _stronger_?

But now is not the time for these thoughts, he realizes – is forced to realize when the boy beneath him reaches up, gripping his bicep as he thrusts as if on autopilot. His other hand, the mechanical one, is over his own mouth, trapping endless streams of sound from escaping. Obi-Wan chuckles. Anakin is always so loud, and even with metal clamped over his lips, and there’s only one way to truly shut him up.

Obi-Wan leans down, brushing auburn hair aside to whisper in his ear, “ _Want me to choke you?_ ”

And Anakin can only nod furiously, mechanical arm sliding down his own torso, to his straining length. In one swift move, Obi-Wan pushes it away, grasping Anakin’s cock in his left hand while its steadier counterpart pushes just-so on Anakin’s throat.

It’s a fast-repeating cycle, now – thrust, stroke, grip, only speeding up as Anakin has no complaints. He’s so far gone he can’t do anything but take in stifled half-breaths, eyes rolling up in pleasure.

In this primal display, Obi-Wan finds he does not feel like a Jedi, but a _man._ Driven by lust. By love. He wonders why it is the way it is – why had he and Anakin not been born simply as commoners?

He knows things would not have been the same, however. _We would have been lightyears apart. And the age difference…_

Eventually, though, the need for release overpowers these thoughts. So as heat curls in his belly, Obi-Wan empties his mind, leaning down to brush a light kiss onto Anakin’s cheek as he delivers a final thrust, coming deep within Anakin’s body.

This triggers Anakin’s own release. Obi-Wan lets go of his throat, instead worshiping the slightly reddened skin with kisses. They lay entangled on the dirty floor for what seems hours; finally, Anakin begins to speak, but before his sentence is complete he’s mentally chastised by the other.

_You must rest your voice, dear one._

Instead of responding, Anakin remains silent. Obi-Wan finds it quite alright. Edging towards the boy’s completely open mind – sex seems to make one’s shields go haywire – he feels warm. Safe. _Loved._ All novelties which he cannot take for granted.

If there’s any dark in the boy – the _man –_ beneath him, it is well-hidden. And if any red occupies his mind, it is the steady pumping of blood; the color of the heart; the shade of kiss-bitten lips on desert-tanned skin.

Along their bond, Anakin sends not words, but a simple stream of emotion; unable to be named, tangled as his sweat-matted hair, as their bodies – as their souls. Obi-Wan holds him closer and revels in the fact that even amidst war, a galaxy in pain, they have the good fortune to be together – the fact that they are here, now.

_So many planets, so many years; yet somehow I collided with you._


End file.
